A Place of Sunshine
No matter what the world says, I have the best family in the world. We are not rich. We don’t own fancy stuff. We don’t go to dream vacations or go shopping and indulge ourselves. We don’t hobnob with the rich and famous. We just act ourselves, content the way we are—and indeed we are happy. In our house there are no pretensions. Simply satisfied of being with each other, we find peace.
One of my parents’ favorite pastimes, apart from gardening, is watching noontime shows—those shows in which the hosts shout a lot and the audience are expected to laugh at their jokes. No intention to offend here, but I usually find such shows corny, being the kinda snooty person that I am who sometimes have the pretension of only wanting to watch “intellectually stimulating” programs–as if! (sooo ‘90s). There was a time though when the TV was silent because my parents were not home. “Aahh bliss!” was my first reaction, but then suddenly I missed the noise and ka-cornihan. I missed the mundane things, even if they be corny or not falling within the ambit of my supposed sophistication, that mark my everyday life—a great part of which include my parents.
They go to work everyday; I also go on with my daily affairs and dramas. We have our routines and thus often get absorbed in our personal issues. The drudgery of everyday sometimes makes me forget how lucky I am to be still going home to them, but the truth is my life could never be better. This does not mean that I am happy because I am forever living like an unemancipated child, but because I know that home is where I can finally unload myself of the burdens, where I can relax and let myself go. Boy am I lucky to have these parents who care if their hardheaded daughter gets home safe, even if it really gets on my nerves when ma does that police investigator act. I am lucky that every night, upon entering our door, ma is there to ask me if I’ve eaten already. She even takes the time to reheat the food that pa so lovingly cooked even if she knows that I have probably eaten out with friends or insists that I follow her example of dieting. In other words, I feel so lucky to feel so cared for, no matter what I do or don’t do. Being the best daughter is not a prerequisite to enjoy their love. I have never said this, but I’m glad to see my parents every day, knowing that this gift has its time limit. Nothing goes on forever. Life is short, and for now let me be simply grateful.
P.S.
also lucky that brother takes the time to call even if evil older sister is usually mean and demanding and has nothing better to say than “what’s ur ulam there? don’t u have work?”
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